


Look for the Real Things

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Based on a Tumblr Post, First Meetings, M/M, Misunderstandings, Phil Needs a Hug, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is cranky, hungry, and stressed out from studying for finals. He's just trying to grab a quick dinner, and the last thing he needs is some musclebound jerk making fun of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look for the Real Things

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer ~ Marvel's toys, not mine. I'm just playing with them.
> 
> I'm still working on Adamantsteve's birthday fic, but this has been sitting, completely finished, for several weeks, so I thought I should post it. I saw the prompt in one of the tumblr posts with a whole list of different AU scenarios, and it just kind of spiraled from there.
> 
> Thank you to lapillus, alykat, ladytian, and anyone else I had look over this over the time I was futzing with it. Your suggestions were all invaluable.

 

Phil tosses down his pen with a sigh. He rubs his eyes, frowning when he notices it's almost dark in his dorm room. His stomach growls, and he realizes he's skipped lunch again.

This Microeconomics final is going to be the death of him -- it's the one class standing in the way of a fourth semester in a row on the Dean's List, and he is not giving up without a fight.

But he needs a break, and if he doesn't get out of this room, he's going to go next door and murder Felix Blake. His iPod dock will make a great blunt instrument. The concept of Quiet Week seems to be beyond Blake's tiny little brain, and while Phil loves superhero movies as much as (and probably more than) the next guy, if Blake doesn't stop playing the same score on repeat for _hours_ , homicide will be Phil's only recourse.

Shrugging on a hoodie and his Chucks, he heads for the Commons. He's tired -- Ian Quinn is in the room on the other side of Phil, and he and his girlfriend kept Phil up all freaking night, which only reminded Phil how long it's been since he went on any kind of a date -- and he wants junk food. He thinks about texting Jasper on his way there to see if he wants to join Phil, but he changes his mind. Jasper is in the Culinary Arts program, and he'll spend the entire time analyzing everything on Phil's tray.

Phil is not in the mood tonight.

Nick is working, he knows, and Maria and Melinda are studying together, so Phil is on his own.

That's okay, though. He's pretty much used to being alone. He'll play mindless games on his phone while he eats, give his brain a chance to recharge.

He wanders through the Commons, checking out the kiosks and tossing a few things on his tray. The last thing he grabs is a Coke from the cooler by the register. It's one of the new ones, the "Share a Coke with" ones, but he doesn't even bother looking at the name. They're never anyone he knows, and it's not like he's got anyone to share it with tonight anyway.

Shuffling into the -- thankfully short -- line, he starts unloading his tray for the cashier to scan. The guy in front of him is chatting cheerfully with the cashier, a pretty brunette whose nametag says Mary Beth, who is nodding back and smiling, completely rapt. Phil watches furtively and a little wistfully, wondering how nice it must be to just be able to strike up a conversation like that.

"These things are so dumb," the guy tells her with a laugh, handing her his own bottle of Coke. "How often do you get one that's somebody you know, right? Never. Like, how many guys named Phil do _you_ know?"

Phil bobbles his sandwich, barely catching it, and both Cheerful Guy and the cashier look over at him. He can feel himself start to blush, and he mentally swears.

"My name's Phil," he says with a weak grin, since they're both looking at him. Mary Beth looks underwhelmed at the news, but Cheerful Guy's eyes widen.

They're very pretty, Phil notes absently.

"No shit?" Pretty Eyes practically crows, voice full of humor and disbelief. His gaze flits over Phil, clearly checking him out, and his smile widens into something appreciative.

Not used to such blatant scrutiny, Phil resists the urge to hunch his shoulders. "Why would I lie?" he says, going back to emptying his tray onto the checkstand.

"That'll be $5.40," Mary Beth says impatiently, and the guy half-turns, absentmindedly pulling out his wallet.

"Well, that's a hell of a coincidence," he tells Phil as he pays her, thanking her with an absent smile. "But, y'know, the slogan is 'Share a Coke with a friend,' and we're not friends."

Phil blinks, taken aback, and then he glares at the guy. _Dick._

"So, we should change that, right?" He turns to briefly pile his food haphazardly back on his tray, and then turns back and holds out his hand with a winning smile. "You must be Phil. I'm Clint."

Phil's smile falters. He's not going to be rude to this guy, even if he is kind of a jerk, so he shakes perfunctorily. "Nice to meet you," he says flatly.

He turns away, smiling tightly at Mary Beth. She's watching them curiously, but she takes his cash and gives him his change.

'Clint' is still standing there, tray in his hands, and Phil wonders what he's waiting for. The anger is building -- he'd thought he was done with bullies when he left high school, but apparently some people never change. Of course there's no way a guy this hot would actually be interested in Phil. He should've known.

 _Jocks are jocks everywhere_ , he thinks bitterly as he gathers up his dinner, remembering the muscled arms he'd briefly appreciated before 'Clint' turned out to be an asshole.

He pivots to find a table and nearly runs into 'Clint'. 

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks Phil as he follows Phil toward a table. "It normally takes me at least a _little_ bit longer to piss someone off. Dude, the friend thing was just a joke. Maybe… maybe kind of a line. Stupid, I know, but -- "

"Barton!"

A group of athletic looking guys walks by, sending nods and grins 'Clint's' way. One of them slaps him on the back with a "What's up, Hawk?"

He all but ignores them, nodding distractedly.

Phil sighs, because he's not sure what this guy wants, and he just wants to eat in peace and go back to his room to fight with his econ textbook. He turns the bottle of Coke on his tray so that the name on it is facing out.

"You can stop pretending your name is Clint, all right? You clearly saw my soda, and you're making fun of me because I told you my name was Phil. So -- "

"Oh my God."

Eyes huge, 'Clint' hastily bangs his tray down on the table, nearly missing and sending his food all over the floor. He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, flipping to his student ID.

"I'm not lying, I swear, look -- what are the fucking odds, this is crazy!"

Phil stares at the ID, stunned. _Clint Barton_ , it says, and the picture is hilariously mug shot quality.

"Ignore the murder face, it's just my resting face. Look, I can show you my driver's license if you still don't believe me, but it says Clinton, so… this is nuts. It must be fate."

He's grinning, eyes bright, talking a mile a minute, and Phil sinks into the chair, his stomach full of lead. He doesn't know if he's ever felt like more of an idiot.

"Hey, are you all right?" Clint slides into the seat across from him.

"I'm sorry," Phil mutters. "You must think I'm such an asshole."

"Hey, no -- I don't blame you, I probably wouldn't have believed me either. We should go buy a lottery ticket, you know? Listen, this is clearly the start of a beautiful, um, friendship, right? A story we can tell everyone we know. So, we'll, like, start over. Let's just eat, our food's getting cold. Well, yours is a sandwich, so it's already cold, but you know what I mean."

Phil stares at him in disbelief, and Clint shrugs.

"The universe obviously meant for us to meet," he says simply, peeling a slice of pepperoni off his pizza and shoving it into his mouth.

He really is kind of cute, and his eyes -- and his arms -- are amazing. He's willing to just go with this ridiculous turn of events, so Phil decides he can too. He reaches for his sandwich and unwraps it, and Clint beams as he puts their bottles of soda right next to each other. He snaps a picture with his phone, and Phil raises an eyebrow.

"For posterity," Clint says with a grin. "And proof. Hey, you want a slice of my pizza? I'll trade you for some of those cookies."

The cookies are mini chocolate chip, sold by the students in the Baking and Pastry Arts program, and they're quite possibly the best thing on campus.

Well, maybe the best thing on campus next to Clint's wheedling smile. Phil laughs.

"Why not?"

**THE BEGINNING**

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a Coca-Cola slogan from 1974. It does not belong to me.
> 
> EEEEEEE. YOU GUYS LOOK. Snowzapped made [AMAZING art for this fic](http://snowzapped.tumblr.com/post/109123146480/for-ralkana-d-from-her-fic-look-for-the-real). You should go check it out, now! Look how cute! :D


End file.
